


The (Last) Hurrah

by sb_essebi



Series: Whouffaldi one-shots [11]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, First Time, Kill the Moon fix-it, Misunderstandings, Mummy on the Orient Express missing scenes, Pining, Post-Episode: s08e07 Kill the Moon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2019-02-01 09:02:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12701667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sb_essebi/pseuds/sb_essebi
Summary: Prompt by AngelHaggis13: could u do a smutty chapter where the doctor, after Clara yells at him and then leaves him in Kill the Moon, realizes how much she means to him and that he can't live without her and he plans to show her on their trip on the Orient Express?





	The (Last) Hurrah

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AngelHaggis13](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=AngelHaggis13).



For the twelfth time in an hour, the Doctor's steps traced a full circle around the console and stopped in front of the main control panel, leaving him to sigh heavily as he looked at the monitor and placed his hands on the edge of the console, letting his weight be supported almost entirely by his arms.

He missed Clara, painfully so, to the point the emotional ache had turned into the physical sensation of his hearts clenching sorely in his chest and an anxious tension coiling just beneath his diaphragm. He had tried not to think about it, tried to push it down deep inside him, as that was his usual way of dealing with the passions of his hearts in this incarnation, but it hadn't actually worked. He had ran out of things to do in less than a week, considering that usually he spent most of his time looking for places that could impress or interest or amuse Clara; travelling alone had suddenly no appeal whatsoever. So he had been forced to think, think about what had happened.

He had gotten it all wrong, he understood it now. It had been a miracle that Clara hadn't really slapped him hard enough to make him regenerate –he was sure she was absolutely capable of it. What he had intended as a gesture of trust and respect for humanity's –mostly Clara's- capabilities she had interpreted as a patronizing and dismissive act. He wasn't sure of where is error was exactly, if in overestimating Clara or underestimating the situation, or even just in his attitude with her. What he could understand was that, apparently, he should have at the very least remained by her side instead of flying away. His way had made her upset, made her scared. He had wanted in no way to make her scared, he felt very guilty about that part.

That wasn't the worst, however. The worst was that she had told him to go away –a  _long way_  away- and to not come back, and she had shut the door before he could run after her, shocked as he was.

Nonetheless, he had resolved that he had to try and ask for forgiveness, no matter what she had said, because to begin with he was good at everything but giving up, and secondly if there was one thing he would never give up without a fight that was Clara Oswald. The TARDIS too, on a second thought.

"I can't lose her. I can't," he realized in horror.

Clara meant everything to him. Even though his love had been beaten and wounded after her declaration of love to P.E. it had not diminished in any way: he still loved her too much for words, too much to do as much as consider a life without her. After all, it wasn't about being reciprocated. This version of him was tied to Clara in ways that transcended simple love or companionship, even the vague human notions of 'true love' or 'soulmate' fell into nothingness in front of what Clara had done for him and what he felt for her as a result. She had torn herself apart for him, imprinted herself in his timeline; even before that, she had saved him in more ways that he could count. In response, his love was filled with a gratitude, devotion and utter adoration so intense that every so often he was convinced that his hearts would crack under the weight of it all.

So no, there was no way he could lose her so easily.

~oOo~

"What are you doing here?" Clara asked, the door of her flat only half opened.

He had set the landing for six weeks after his argument with Clara, knowing her and knowing that she would necessarily need some time to cool off some of her rage. He didn't want to wait to little and end up only discussing with her again, but he also didn't want to wait too much and make her even more cross. There was something different in her. Her hair was longer, maybe. No. No, not longer. Shorter.

The Doctor chose the words carefully. "To apologise."

"Do go on," she said plainly.

She seemed still angry, even though maybe not irremediably so, but he wasn't sure.

"You won't let me in?" he asked, startled.

"No," she answered after a little hesitance, leaning against the door.

"I am sorry if I disrespected you-"

"You  _did_  disrespect me," she interrupted.

"Right. I'm sorry I disrespected you. I'm an idiot and I thought I was doing the right thing. I didn't want to scare you or put you in difficulty put you in danger-"

"You put  _Courtney_  in danger. You put  _the human race_  in danger."

"Can't I just say I'm sorry?"

"It won't change what you've done. I-" Clara paused and sighed heavily. Her expression softened slightly. "I understand you thought you were doing the right thing. I do. But it wasn't, okay? I'm not- I was really angry with you. I was. But I'm- I'm not, now. I just- It's just- I can't do this anymore, Doctor, I spoke with Danny and- and he knew this was going to happen, that you were going to ask me too much one day. Doctor, I think… I don't think I can do this, the double life, anymore."

"What do you mean?" the Doctor questioned, confused, a corner of his mind starting to panic.

"I mean… no more sneaking off in the TARDIS. No more… travelling together."

His hearts missed a couple of beats as the words crashed over him in an ice-cold wave. So she had already taken a decision. She wouldn't even let him have a say in this, in them. Of course, there wasn't a 'them'. Not really. Not anymore. His hands searched behind his back for the wooden surface of the TARDIS, for support. He felt tears starting to form in his eyes, blinked and swallowed hard to regain his composure. He took all the emotional tempest inside him and  _pushed it all down_.

"I had the whole day planned out, you know?" he said quietly, wondering how he would ever find the words to say goodbye. There weren't. There weren't words for that. "I had tickets." He had always thought that people like them were never meant to part. Never. "For the Orient Express." There couldn't be words for their goodbye. They had never been invented, never been thought of.

"The- the real Orient Express?" Clara voice came, shaking him a little.

"Yes, of course, the real Orient Express. One of them anyway. There were many trains with that name."

"We could… go."

"Where?" he asked, confused.

"On the Orient Express."

He felt the smile on his face even before her words could fully sink into his brain.

' _Oh God. Did she just change her mind?'_  "But you just said-"

"Shut up, I know what I said. We could go as, you know, one last adventure. A last hurrah."

Clara's lips curved ever-so-slightly as the Doctor's smile faded.

"Is that what you want?" he asked after a pause.

"It is." She smiled a little and lightly touched his chest with her hand. His eyes followed her movement. "Look at you, all dressed up," she murmured, apparently noticing only now his elegant clothes.

"So what? You are too."

Her smile turned wider and gentler. "Doctor, I'm in pyjamas."

"Go dress up, then?" he invited, gesturing at the TARDIS.

Clara walked past him and into the TARDIS, doing as he asked, leaving him to stare at her door without really seeing it, trying to gather the strength to pull himself together.

~oOo~

"To our last hurrah," the Doctor murmured.

He probably looked dreadful now, glancing at the floor, unable to meet her gaze, both his hands humbly holding his champagne flute. He was sure had worn happier faces at a funeral.

"Our last, yeah. I mean- it's not like I'm never going to see you again."

"Isn't it?" he asked.

He had half an idea to fall to his knees and just beg her to stay, but he was too proud to do that. His eyes were bright again. Luckily, it was dark in the corridor for Clara to notice.

"Is it?" She seemed genuinely surprised.

"I thought that's what you wanted," he stated tonelessly.

She looked alarmed, and rapidly stepped closer.

"No, what I mean… you're going to come round for dinner or something, aren't you? Do you- do you do that? Do you come round to people's houses for dinner?"

Did she really mean that? Did she really think he could show up every once in a while, at her house, probably with P.E. around, living with her, touching her, being comfortable and intimate in her personal space, only to see her? She overestimated him. He wouldn't be able to take it. No, this was going to be the last time for them. He had to run away and find new companions, new problems to keep him busy; try to forget her, convince himself she was happy with P.E., even though he knew she would keep hunting him for centuries in his dreams.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I do that?" he lied, his face still an almost emotionless mask.

"I don't know. I thought you might find it boring."

"Is it boring?"

"No."

They were staring at each other, his blue eyes looking down to meet her brown ones. He could stare into her eyes forever. There was something magnetic in them, he often wished he could just drown in all that deep, dark brown. But this would be the last time he saw her: so many things would remain untold, undone, unthought-of even. He had never gotten the chance to know how it felt to run his hands through her hair with this new skin, or to kiss her with these lips. His gaze darted to her mouth for a millisecond and he lost himself in that small phantasy. Then, Clara moved closer to him and, almost automatically, he let his flute fall on the floor, cupping her face with both hands and pressing his lips against hers.

The Doctor stopped thinking as his brain tried to register the sudden overload of sensations: her soft lips, the taste of her lipstick and of champagne, the scent of her skin in his nostrils, her cheeks hot under his palms, an electric jolt running down his spine and tugging firmly at something inside him at the level of his lower abdomen.

Clara not only responded to his kiss but deepened it, letting her flute fall just as carelessly as his and bringing her left hand behind his neck to yank him down, her right pulling him closer by his cravat, parting his lips with her tongue.

The Doctor moaned into her mouth, eyes shut. He didn't know how long this would last, but he would make the most of it. He found himself with his back against the wall, Clara's body pressed against his, glass breaking underneath his shoes, and dared to slide his hands down her back, to her arse, bringing her as close as he could, rocking his hips into hers.

When they parted it was only for him to kiss her again, unable to stop himself. Only Clara could stop him now from taking this further, but she showed no intention to, her hand running through his hair and down his neck perfectly, scratching lightly, pulling urgently, triggering a series of small electric explosions along his nerves. His kiss rapidly grew needy and hungry, hands tugging impatiently at her dress, fingers slipping beneath it and muscles trembling at the feeling of her smooth skin.

A few steps later, made uncertain and clumsy by their refusal to stop kissing, they were in the Doctor's sleeping compartment and he was pushing Clara down on the bed as he tossed his jacket on the floor. Her gloves and shoes reached it in a moment. He climbed on the bed, between her legs, barely leaving her time to breathe before kissing her again with a desperation and an urgency that were as far from his usual behaviour as possible.

She hadn't said a word yet, and he had left her little time to, instinctively melting one kiss into another. He didn't want to hear her reasons for this, if it was mere curiosity or a lingering sentiment for his younger self or even just her missing Danny… he didn't want to know. If he could have this memory, this moment of them, if he could experience just once in his life what it was like to be with Clara Oswald, skin to skin, in this body that was meant to be one with hers, then he would take the chance.

It was only when his hands caressed their way up her thighs, pushing her dress further up, that she gasped in his mouth and tried to voice her thoughts.

"Doctor-"

"Shh," he pleaded, covering her mouth with his hand gently. "Please. If you want to explain, don't. Shut up." If she talked, he'd break down. He didn't want to break down, not now, not like this. "I don't care why you're letting me do this, I promise I'll disappear from your life the moment you fall asleep, I'll take you back home and you'll wake up in your bed. I'll be gone."

Clara's eyes grew wide as the Doctor spoke. She took his hand in both of hers to reveal a smile underneath.

"You're not going anywhere," she said, shaking her head lightly.

"Wha-what do you mean?"

"The reason why we're doing this is… is that I love you, you idiot."

"Oh.  _Oh_."

"Yes, oh."

He smiled weakly at her, eyes bright with unexpected joy. "Clara," he said simply, mouth dry, words failing him once again.

"So, was this a  _last hurrah_  kind of thing for you or you're still in for this?"

"I'm- I'm in… I- it was more an  _I love you_  kind of thing."

"Good," she stated, pulling the Doctor down for a kiss.

Clara kissed him hard, demandingly, forcing his eyes to close, running her hands through his hair and down his neck, undoing his cravat and unbuttoning his shirt as he tried to balance his weight on his knees only to keep his hands free to remove the cufflinks of his sleeves. When he finally managed to, Clara was quick to get rid of his shirt; he felt her hands explore the skinny muscles of his arms, shoulders and back and then slide to the front. Her fingers found the waistband of his trousers and trailed down to trace the line of his erection, making his body tremble and Clara smile in the kiss.

"Clara," the Doctor whispered against her lips, beginning a sentence that she didn't let him finish.

"Shh. You said it yourself: shut up."

He wanted to protest about his shoes being still on, because they were leaving a bunch of minuscule shards of glass over the end of the sheets and, even though he didn't really care now, he would regret it later that night. He soon forgot anyway, as Clara was being very distracting, with her right hand trying to unbutton his trousers and with her left guiding his hand underneath her dress to touch lacy underwear with a warm wet spot at the centre, something that he found ridiculously arousing for some reason and that made his cheeks suddenly burning hot and itchy. Even more distracting was the sight of her as she pushed him off her to take off her dress, only to pull him back down to kiss and nibble down his neck and cleavage and return her hands to the task of lowering his trousers. A corner of the Doctor's mind wondered how Clara could do it all so deftly while he was barely functioning, simply able to thrust his hips into her touch and grunt softly under her kisses, eyes closed so tightly they hurt.

Clara pushed him back once more to sit and take off her knickers, then rapidly tugged his pants and trousers down his hips and pulled him close again. She kissed him passionately and the Doctor responded instinctively, matching her rhythm, letting his hands wander over her smooth skin and massage her breasts, earning a small moan in reward. Clara caressed his back, tracing his spine and cupping his arse, pushing him down, a little closer to what they were both desperate for but were delaying out of fear of the future or of heartbreak or of separation, not willing to admit that they were already too far tied up together to stop.

The Doctor was the first to give in, with a "Need you" and a "Please" together with her name. She took him in her hand and her skin was hot compared to his but almost cool compared to the heat of her sex when he entered her gently. Clara let out a sound between a hum and a moan as he groaned, burying his face in her neck. He breathed heavily against her skin, hearts pounding, overcome by the sensation that was all new after one thousand years and new to this body, which was violently oversensitive, especially when it came to Clara. She encouraged him to move by calling his name urgently, kissing his shoulder gently and giving small thrusts of her hips up into his, which had his body shudder.

It was difficult for the Doctor to move like he wished to with his trousers and pants stuck at his calves, but Clara made up for it by arching her own body against his, helping him to set a fast pace to match her need and his. He vaguely noticed the embarrassing number of times her name left his lips, but Clara didn't seem to mind. She was louder than him however, her breaths sharp and her voice throaty as she moaned without much regard for the other passengers' sleep while only groaned quietly between kisses on her neck and shoulder. Somehow her cries of pleasure sent his own nerves on fire.

It didn't last long, or at least so it seemed to the Doctor. Maybe they wanted each other too much or had waited for this too long, or perhaps their bodies matched so perfectly that they were made to give in to each other in a matter of minutes. Probably all three. Clara broke first, her fingernails digging into his shoulders and her muscles constricting around his body, causing his own climax to catch him almost suddenly, a shiver running down his spine as he spilled himself inside her.

Afterwards, the Doctor undressed completely to lie down under the blankets with Clara, hoping the sheets were thick enough to not feel the small pieces of glass on top of them. Clara rested with most of her body over his, given the small dimensions of the bed, and he held her close gently.

"Will you leave anyway?" he asked in a whisper.

"Of course not!" she exclaimed, looking up at him. "I'm sorry. I've had a wobble. It's a big wobble, but it's fine. Forget about it."

"Are you sure?"

"Are you?"

"No."

Clara laughed. Then, in the distance, the Doctor heard voices.

"What was that? Did you hear that?" Clara asked.

"You probably woke up half of the train," he commented.

Clara punched his arm lightly. "I'm serious."

The voices came again, and the Doctor realized it was someone screaming. "Came from the galley, I think."

Clara sighed. "This mummy thing. It's a thing, right? You knew there was trouble," she stated with a slightly accusatory tone.

"Yes," he answered slowly.

"Oh,  _God_ ," she exclaimed in exasperation, "I bloody hate you."

She got out of bed quickly and started to pick up their clothes.

"What are you doing?"

"Get dressed," she commanded as she tossed him his shirt. "We've got a monster to catch," she said, grinning.

The Doctor grinned back at her.


End file.
